Nostalgia in Reverse
by daruissu
Summary: Four times, they "met" before Arizona even had the backbone to approach the very fascinating ortho resident and four times, Callie was not aware.


Disclaimer: I own nothing like Jon Snow knows nothing. We're just both lying on the cold, hard ground.

 **A/N:** Hey there! So, I wrote a light one-shot instead of updating my ongoing multi-chapter Callie/Arizona fic, Of Gaps and Bridges, to counter all the angst and the longing— it's quite a dark place…kidding. But, please try to check it out after this if you haven't read yet. Enjoy!

 _Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring._ \- Vladimir Nabokov

* * *

Their first meeting had actually occurred in an on-call room.

She doesn't know if the other woman still remembers. (She probably doesn't, Callie was often oblivious.) But Arizona does and she doesn't forget the dark, wearied linings underneath long lashes of eyes hardly open and the adorable, deep crease between brows.

 _i._ It was all too odd.

She has never before found creases, of any kind, endearing. It was sort of a thing, a complex of hers if one may say— how she would always want to straighten out all crinkles and folds within her reach. An irony too, if she deliberated the un-fun fact of how she had tipped a plentiful amount of girls into the clean, white sheets of her bed.

(At all times, Arizona would explain to her friends for the term, tipped: _they weren't turned, they just needed a small push_. She liked believing that.)

Some just called her a womanizer too many times and perhaps they were right. She could only blame promises and lies and abandonments and heartbreaks.

Arizona Robbins _was once_ an attentive lover who memorized every childhood scar and freckle in the arch of your back and placed a kiss on them with purpose— she wasn't the type who overlooked. She was someone who'd tell you that the fading gash on the nape of your neck was beautiful.

Yet, life went on and she tried to change and make choices because people changed and made choices.

Two months and three weeks into the _click, clack_ of rain and the oddly comforting nimbus clouds of Seattle, the number of _acquaintances_ she had spent the night with can now be tallied with more than ten fingers.

(She stayed only until the clock struck two, when she can sneak off in the darkness of dawn like Cinderella with a midnight curfew.)

Hospital staff included, case in point.

She was _half_ -half-naked, stripped down to her white wife beater and straddling the slim thighs of a woman whose last name she didn't even know. Arizona fails to recall if she was a nurse or a pharmaceutical rep. She was still fairly new in town— a hotshot surgical attending at the age of only 32, already with a promise of being the head of the department from her own boss— it sort of gave her an excuse to not know.

They've only been flirting for a couple of days. She looked nice, made nice jokes, and was nice in general. They always were, she supposed. Easy, uncomplicated, fun.

She happened to be on a shift for the night with this flirty co-worker and the next thing Arizona knew, she was already being dragged into an empty area by impatient hands.

And then something happens in the drop of an inaudible beat.

She was just drawing the strings of her dark scrub pants when the door opens out of the blue. She would have all but yelped, really, if it were a different scenario.

But, all that seemed to matter, at the time, were long, messy jet black locks tied into a floppy bun and the brightest brown irises she has ever seen. And there was this crease, this deep crease just by her forehead accompanied with a frown tugging at the corners of her plump lips. (It was cute.)

She has never seen this _woman_ before and it kind of made sense. The hospital has a lot of floors and there are _a lot_ of employees. The intruder was clad in light blue scrubs and looked like the absolute manifestation of fatigue, death even. For short, a resident. Been there, done that, Arizona thinks.

She doesn't know how she managed to come up with all of that in a span of only seventeen seconds but she gradually finds it fitting, even if there was no logic for it to be. And then, the brunette becomes slightly aware of where she was and what was happening despite her present state of mind, and Arizona bites her bottom lip like a child who had just been caught stealing apples from the fruit stand.

"Crap, sorry. My bad."

And the door closes, leaving her fair face completely flushed at the ridiculously gorgeous stranger with the husky voice who was just by the door— the stranger who had even barely noticed.

She gives a half-smile at the person beneath her right after and goes on to resume their _activities_ , not acknowledging the miniscule feelings and funny flips in her stomach. When she gets back to her apartment, she contemplates and gets dizzy and tries to sleep early. Except she fails on the last part.

It was already two in the morning and her eyes are still as open as the sunny, blue sky.

She groans into her pillow, dreading the upcoming unknown. But that's how it starts.

* * *

 _ii._ Arizona was incredibly unsure if she was besotted or just genuinely envious of the very fascinating resident's mesmerizing and flawless caramel skin when she spots her again. It was probably both.

The brunette was now much more sprightly and Arizona assumes that she'd found restful sleep since two weeks ago. It proved so good for her tanned complexion, she could only nod approvingly. Her eyes were still stunningly the same but don't level with what had been stuck on her mind in both her slumber and wakefulness. Chocolate brown, only lighter, clearer, more upbeat and Arizona gets fond of them even more. She had her lab coat on with her sleeves rolled up (it was all too incredibly attractive), with the words _Calliope Torres, M.D._ embroidered on the right side of her chest.

Arizona decides that she immensely liked her name, testing the musical syllables out in the abstract tongue of her mind.

Calliope _._ The muse of epics and eloquence, an inspiration to significant literatures like the Iliad and the Odyssey, classics that she herself had read back when she was young and shared the same room with her older brother, them mouthing sentences printed on yellowing pages together throughout the night, while their parents slept and never, ever knew. She was not keen on mythologies— more often than not, its conspiracies were rather too dramatic for her, too strange.

However, she thoroughly enjoys the stringing of words, the allusions in rhythms and verses, and a name meaning _beautifully-voiced_ could not have suited the woman more.

Arizona really needs to stop staring right now or else, she would be accused of stalking.

It was all so stupid, honestly, because for all she knew, this woman, with the swaying, voluptuous curves and perfectly-arched eyebrows, was not into women.

When did that ever stop her though, right?

However, this was different. She felt different and she makes Arizona yearn something unfamiliar and familiar at the same time, like a timeworn ignition desperate for burning sparks. She had walked in without warning, bringing about thrills that tingle on each tip of Arizona's fingers, she could only long for the strange flap of wings lolling within.

Chance places her infatuation head right over to the same nurses' station she was at, to return a finished chart. Her heart thumped wildly inside her ribs as footsteps closed in scarcely a meter away, a fresh peppermint fragrance slowly wafting just above her nose. Arizona immediately ducks out of panic, covering herself with a pink clipboard and her cerulean eyes all bulged out. Dumb and unsubtle, she knows, but whatever. It felt like it was her only choice.

This time, their _meeting_ concludes after thirty-six torturous seconds of shoulder a hairbreadth away from shoulder because this rude person, who also seemed to be a doctor, suddenly hollers out to her mys-, _the_ mysterious resident and yanks her off to the elevator, yelling "tequila" from the top of her lungs.

And thank god for that— Arizona thought she was just about to die from the explosions in her chest.

"Dr. Torres seems to be doing better these days," she overhears from behind the counter. (It's overhearing because she doesn't willingly gossip. She just happened to be on the same vicinity with middle-aged ladies sharing stories.) "I'm happy she's a lot brighter. She's such a sweet and caring person. That break-up with Dr. Hahn looked like it had been a tough one."

Her ears perk up like raised, flashing antennas. _Dr. Torres_. Dr. Calliope Torres. _Break-up…_ break-up?

She wasn't listening in on gossip. Arizona Robbins is not a gossip.

"Wait, Dr. Hahn? As in that very cold Dr. Erica Hahn who resigned almost a month ago?"

The nurse shrugs her shoulders, "Yep, they were a thing. Really mustn't have ended well. Poor girl."

Erica is a woman's name. And Dr. Calliope Torres broke up with her. And Erica is a _woman_.

She should feel bad and evil because there was a bad demise of a relationship and she had become a malicious gossip today but, somehow, there was a permanent, dimpled smile plastered on her face for the rest of the night. And she doesn't feel the least bit unapologetic for that.

* * *

 _iii._ Another two weeks later, a chess piece moves across tiles yet again.

Dr. Kenley had a heart attack during his morning rounds and passed away before they could do anything about it. He was a respectable senior physician, the head of pediatric surgery but now, he was the former and she, the new one. And one Miranda Bailey absolutely despises her for it.

Not like Arizona wanted the quick promotion with those circumstances, but it was a big thing. This change in position was a very huge deal for her and this snarky fifth-year resident assigned on Jackson Prescott's case is making her feel so guilty about it, second-guessing her every move at every moment.

She's not the problem, Bailey's not the problem, the patient is. The patients always are.

The late Dr. Kenley left quite the big caseload and basically, she is almost drowning on her first day as the supervisor of her own ward. Her pager buzzes, making her eyes roll over her head. Someone is calling her to the pit and there's a great desire running up her throat to scream at whoever did that. By the time she gets to the ER, the urge to strangle somebody dissolves.

Calliope is there in the third exam room— resetting a man's dislocated arm with her own hands and erupting into loud, melodious laughs with care and affection oozing out from her every movement. Arizona finds herself wanting to hear more, see more and more as she watches from a transparent window.

She sees blindingly white teeth peeking out between red lips and she is floored more than ever, smiling and looking smitten for a woman she barely even knows. The train of her thoughts jabs her right in the gut and fear doesn't even falter a second to cross her lines.

She looks away to escape. That's what she always does when there's something she can't tack a name on comes. _It's a phobia for the estranged_.

* * *

 _iv._ The next time she catches a glimpse of her, the woman was walking by the lobby and she was trying to forget.

She went on first dates, second ones and sometimes, she would even make time to buy small jewelry from that local store she had visited once— mostly for herself. But she also gave her dates little trinkets occasionally like cute, glittery bracelets.

Nothing else too special, so as to not go too far.

Just enough to make them happy, to help them make her unsee and disremember mega-watt grins and dark-colored eyes.

Arizona doesn't and so, she gives up, choosing instead to bury herself six feet deep under work. Where she knows something and has control.

Things are taking an unexpected turn lately, with Bailey turning out to be a promising peds fellow for her to mentor, the thuggish Alex Karev actually following through with his work, and their first shared patient well into recovery after recently receiving a transplant.

Life seemed good but all her mind could do was wander off to a stranger she wanted to get to know.

* * *

 _v._ One night, her favorite scrub nurse and old good friend, Anne, asks her out to drinks for a surgery well done.

And she accepts because there's nothing to do and no one in particular to be with at all times.

When they arrive at a bar just across the street from the hospital, there is the same raven locks and brown irises that haven't gotten out of her head for a month and Arizona ponders why she's all alone in her seat and sulking over a glass of rum and coke. The woman looked miserable and all she wanted to do was cheer her up, put a big, brilliant smile on her face.

The fact that there's no reason for the want only unnerves her more.

"Let's sit there," Anne says while pointing to two sets of high stools, as if noticing her sight drift to the brunette slumped over the bar counter. She nods and thanks her with a weak smile and a quiet stare.

They ordered drinks and took sips and talked and laughed but her eyes betray her in the end, as they keep on going to the lonely and pretty figure nearby. Arizona notices the woman be approached by an intern she's seen around before and she takes a big gulp of white wine as she opted to subtly stare.

She briefly wonders if Calliope was getting hit on by a mere _fetus_ but begins to think otherwise when the woman suddenly stands up from her seat and stalks off to the bathroom. A slight wave of a hand over her face brings her back to conversation and she just lets out a small fake laugh, like whatever the other person had just said was a completely hilarious joke. While taking a bite of an onion ring, she excuses herself to go to the restroom and her friend says nothing.

Anne seemed to have picked up on her because she knows something that even she herself doesn't.

Nerves begin to shake as she grasped the knob and opened the door, revealing the brunette all glassy-eyed and wiping shed tears away with the back of her hand. The woman momentarily acknowledges her through the mirror before covering up her sniffs with the flow of water from the sink.

"Hey," Arizona starts on an impulse. "Ortho, right?" She has no idea what she's doing at all but does it anyway.

The brunette clears her throat, resuming to wash her hands. "Yeah. Right."

She takes a step closer and speaks. "I'm Arizona Robbins. Peds surgery. I've seen you at the hospital," she mumbles with a nervous grin. She must not seem as charming as she wanted right now. If she could, she would've just laughed out loud at herself. The fact that their first conversation is happening right now is making her feel giddy but her upturned mouth goes undone when she notes the quivering of plump lips and red-rimmed eyes on the reflection. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answers, her brows furrowing. "You know, I'm fine," is all she says while she turned to face her, completely insinuating the opposite.

There is really something familiar and airy about her, it's almost startling. She can't quite put her finger on it. And she is afraid to get thrust by a nonexistent threat, to put a thimble on her thumb before even beginning to push and pull and push and pull until the bristle runs out and she is forced to end and tie a knot.

No one is ever prepared for these kind of things, she thinks. And no one ever will learn how to in this place they inhabit.

"...people talk. Where we work, they talk. _A lot,_ " she clarifies and makes a face before softening down. "So, for the sake of being honest, I think I should tell you that I know things about you," she chuckles tensely at the surprised look on the brunette's features. "Because people talk."

The woman's face falls. "Oh. You mean-," she sighs heavily then scoffs, shaking her head as she does. "Terrific."

"It is, actually! The talk," Arizona exclaims bouncily and then pauses. "People really like you over there. They-, they respect you and they're concerned and _interested_. They really like you. Some of them _really_ like you," she emphasizes, her eyes glimmering. "You just-, you look upset. And I-, and I thought that you should know that— the talk is _good_. And when you're not upset, when you're over being upset, there will be people lining up for you."

Calliope laughs, bringing a gentle tug to her insides. "You want to give me some names?"

She cocks her head to the side, giving her a slight disbelieving look. The woman doesn't seem to understand. She must be blind in her own silly, little way, Arizona thinks, for she doesn't look closely at what's in the mirror when she's in front of it. But what does she know more about the stranger anyway?

Nothing. But, she wants to, she desperately wants to.

And when she realizes this, there is a feeling neatly folded and hidden in her, something so small in size she can hold it in her palm. It loosens, languorously unwrapping and opening up to be a deep well with a bottom that digs deep into the earth.

Something about her makes her want to stay rooted to the ground.

She dives in, a pale hand threading closer to dark strands and grazing the metal of an earring, caressing a cheek that shone bronze against the incandescent light. Her lips come in slow contact with hers and it was simple, silent, and chaste poetry uttered in perfect meters, every line resonating with their unfolding allegories and then some. The touch sizzled humid air and Arizona is reminded that they are human and they needed to breathe. Her calloused palm slides down the woman's jaw and she pulls away. "I think you'll know," she whispers, and she smiles a smile before leaving altogether.

It was a kiss like the things that romance people deeply and sweep them off their feet, a kiss she has only read on books and imagined to be as real and tangible as men turning into white swans.

(The meeting of their lips makes her doubt that now.)

It was a promise, even if she didn't know it yet, and the very first of many more to come— a metaphor that will endure through thick and thin.


End file.
